


Eat

by Mishima



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, ESL, Ficlet, Not Beta'd read on your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishima/pseuds/Mishima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has yet to recognize all of Sherlock's talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat

John wakes up naturally an hour before his alarm. He stretches lazily and wonder if he should go back to sleep or start his morning routine earlier. His mind is still foggy with sleep, but he feels relaxed like he hasn’t felt in weeks. John Watson rolls on his side, closes his eyes and enjoys the silen-

Silence.  In his flat. 221b, the flat he shares with Sherlock Holmes, is silent.

John sat on his bed abruptly. He squished his eyes and listened.  The world outside was starting to wake up. He could hear the occasional car and birds starting to gain their vocal power back. But the flat was nothing but silent. He listened again. Silence, then a  _Tump_ followed by a metallic sound. He let go a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  Noise, at last. The sign of normality.

He glanced at the clock. _6:15 a.m_. He’s fully awake now, so there’s no use in staying in the bed. He stands up, put on his dressing gown and walks towards the bathroom. He took a shower and sang happily.

John Watson very much appreciated what he liked to call a ‘lucky morning’. Lucky Mornings, for those who are not familiar with them, are those mornings when you wake up before the alarm for no reason at all and feel refreshed, like you have slept for days. John loved these mornings, for he would have time to take a bath, read the newspaper and cook a nice breakfast for himself and, often enough, for Sherlock. Everything about this morning in particular felt very lucky indeed, except for the annoying silence that decided to fall upon his flat. When you live with Sherlock Holmes, silence, as desired as it is, is never a good sign.

As he finishes his bath and starts to dry himself, John decides not to worry about it. He had, after all, heard a low  _tump_ downstairs. It was not the cacophony he was used to, but it was something. Having Sherlock around was like having a child: noise was always a good sign. Silence always indicates that he is up to something wicked and, when it comes to Sherlock, is probably something with the potential to blow up their flat.

He got dressed and headed downstairs. What he heard halfway made his heart skip a beat.

 Someone was humming a tune. The logic conclusion is that Sherlock was the one  _singing_. Not only singing, but  _happily_ singing. For a moment John considered the possibility of this being a dream, that his lucky morning was actually a false awakening and his brain was just being funny. He walked towards the kitchen and once again he was speechless.

John stopped at the kitchen door and stared at the scene happening in front of him with awe. He didn’t know what to make out of it and he was starting to think that this wasn’t a lucky morning after all and, if he had to call this morning anything at all, he would call it weird morning.  He just stands there with disbelief all over his round face.

Sherlock stopped singing and said “Good morning, John” and started humming again.

“What are you doing?” John asked as soon as he discovered how to talk again.

“Don’t be dull, John” said Sherlock “you can clearly see what I’m doing” He wiped his hands on the apron ( _an apron!_  thought John) and smiled at John, as if this was normal morning at 221b.

“All I see is that you are cooking” said John “And I’m either still sleeping or with a serious eyes condition” He blinked twice just to be sure his eyes were ok “and you are wearing an apron!”

“Don’t be stupid, John. Your eyes are fine and you are most definitely awake” Sherlock replied, a little annoyed “And, as you perfectly pointed out, I am cooking” He grabbed a frying pan, poured some oil on it and reached for an egg.

John looked around the kitchen. Sherlock’s laptop was sitting in the kitchen table beside a plate full of neatly done tiny sandwiches, fresh pancakes, homemade jam and warm toasts. John looked around the kitchen, half expecting to find someone else there or a delivery recipe; because there’s  _no fucking way_  Sherlock was responsible for all this food. He found only Sherlock in a flowery apron, though.

John decided that he’d better accept this new reality. He would wake up soon enough, so he might as well enjoy his dream while it lasted, for it was certainly a dream, John had no doubt about it. He took his sit on the table and peeking at Sherlock’s laptop screen he could see his browser was open.  _Omelet recipe_  “I’ve never seen you cooking before. I thought you hated it”

“I never hated it, John. I just didn’t see the point” Sherlock said as he cracked a few eggs in a bowl “But after some research, I decided to try and I’m finding this cooking thing quite amusing”

“Research?”

“Yes. Did you know you can cook eggs in 47 usual ways and a deadly unusual one?” Sherlock asked.

“You are not cooking deadly eggs, are you?” of course anything cooked by Sherlock would come with a hazard warning.

“Oh no, I thought you would not like it. I might save the recipe for Mycroft’s next visit, though” John watched Sherlock hands as he stirred the contents of the bowl with a spatula. “This is an ordinary omelet. I might do a more extensive experiment for dinner”

  _Dinner!_  Sherlock had plans for cooking dinner! “You are not killing your brother with an omelet, Sherlock…”

“You are no fun, John”

“…Try baking him a deadly cake” John said with a smile. He was feeling particularly funny this morning.

Sherlock giggled and smiled back at John. He finished stirring the eggs, poured the contents of the bowl in the frying pan and, as if John wasn’t surprised enough, washed and put the spatula and bowl away. Sherlock wasn’t just cooking. He was cooking and keeping everything clean and tidy as he did so.

“Breakfast will be ready in 5” Sherlock said, disgracefully chopping the tomatoes “Set the table, would you, John?”

John watched as Sherlock cooked totally amazed. He watched the way Sherlock’s body comfortably moved around the kitchen, the way his annoyingly big hands held just the right amount of spice and how these same hands would arrange the omelet on the plate and make it look like a fucking posh meal. How did Sherlock manage to keep this secret from John? Most importantly, why did Sherlock suddenly decided that cooking is fun?

“You have questions” Sherlock said.

“Is that… I have literally never seen you cook”

“Why would I cook if I rarely eat?”

John frowned. Sherlock’s got a point there.

“Last night I read something about cooking that got me thinking” he continued “This article said that cooking is all about finding your inspiration” He fixed his attention on John. Something changed in Sherlock’s expression John couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“You seem to have found yours” John shifted uncomfortable “What is it?” He looked into Sherlock’s eyes and started to blush, because just like that, he knew what Sherlock’s next answer would be.

“You”


End file.
